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Silent River |
The water has no voice
left to speak, only stares
back at me now that the
winds of winter have made
an icy bed for my only
daughter at the bottom
of the river, my tears
surrendering like dying
autumn leaves, my mind
grasping the trailing ribbons
of memory: her plum face
smiling in so many pictures,
images of her so clearly
etched in the albums of my
heart. I remember holding
her for the very first time
and her plump skin was
so soft. Wrapped in the
warmth and passion of
my strong arms, now she
lives only in my silent
dreams.
copyright 2017
Bobbi
SInha-Morey |
